Baila Elkin is in the 9th grade at Bais Yaakov. She enjoys beading, knitting and other craft projects, as well as writing. Last year she won first place for her poem, “The Melody.”
PROSE - 2009
Grades 7 - 9
First Place - Baila Elkin
Second Place - Lana Rubinstein
Third Place - Solomon Polansky
Grades 10 - 12
First Place - Annie Fishman
Prose, Grades 7 - 9: First Place
Rafting in... Living in... Fear - Baila Elkin
You tumble out of the raft, and for a second all you see are the bubbles you have just created. Then, a shocking coldness hits you, penetrating deep inside. The waters rush and froth. They surround you, closing in, suffocating. Struggling to the surface, you grab a breath, then the next wave comes, pushing you deeper, covering you.
As we go through the steps of our life, we feel a certain undefeatableness; the bad things in life - those happen to others, not me. When we hear stories of tragedy, “Oh, how sad,” we say, “That’s just awful, how can this happen?” The underlying message that we don’t even hear is, “But it couldn’t happen to me.” The summer of my thirteenth year I had an experience that shook me up quite a bit, and brought these feelings of indestructibility into question.
“Hey, Chanie, wait up,” I called to my sister. I was attending a traveling camp and we were going whitewater rafting on the Colorado River. I was so excited, I hardly cared if I’d be in a raft with my friends or not, but I knew I wanted to be with Chanie. When I caught up to her, I looked around. Though I had been there for a few days already, the Colorado scenery took my breath away. Majestic mountains that seem to go on and on, their craggy peaks tickling the clouds, and the Colorado River, at a very high level that year. The water flowed swiftly, and at each rapid I saw it froth and foam. In just a few minutes, I would be on that river, rafting over those formidable rapids.
“Come on, come on,” I thought, watching the line of fellow campers before me loading into rafts. It seemed an age as I waited in line to be loaded up onto the raft with eight others, including my sister and a guide. Finally, it was my turn. Taking a deep, steadying breath, I stepped onto the inflated raft.
“Sit down, everyone,” our guide instructed us. I sat on the tough rubber, feeling its slight dampness. Oars were passed out, and I grabbed the slick plastic stick, liking its feel in my hands.
With a firm push, we were off. “Paddle back, paddle back,” our guide called. That was a signal to push our oars against the rapid current. I felt my hand vibrating as I struggled with the rapidly flowing water. Then the rapids suddenly loomed up before me. My stomach lurched as the boat dropped suddenly. Water leaped up to touch my face and wind whipped by. I felt exhilarated, my fears swirling into nothingness with the swirling waters. When we were no longer in the rapids I took a deep breath. The air was as clear as the sky and the water; it made me feel on top of the world, undefeatable. After all, I had just maneuvered rapids as successfully as any professional.
We passed the next rapids, and the next. The water seemed to laugh, saying, “It’s nothing,” and I felt like laughing too. I had no inkling of fear when I saw a big whirling mass of water up ahead. There was no jolt of apprehension as there had been before. This was all old hat by now.
When entering the next rapids, the boat jerked violently. Usually we hit the rapids head on, so as to have more control. Now, we were going in from the side, leaving the water in charge. “PADDLE BACK, PADDLE BACK!” our guide yelled. The boat overturned and all its passengers spilled into the water. Before my oar even touched the water, I was flying through the air, then into the water. All noise deadened, making time stop for a moment. The world was still, frozen. The only thing that seemed to move were the bubbles I had created. Then a rush of icy cold. Now, my lungs screaming for air.
“Air, I need air,” I thought. I struggled to the surface. Even with a life jacket firmly strapped about me, the water pushed down with a brute strength I could not have imagined. As my head broke the surface, I sucked in a quick breath, then was pushed back under. Water was all around me, forcing me deeper. I never knew water could push so hard. I was helpless, a rag doll in its grip as I was tossed to and fro.
“Get in the boat!” I heard a voice. Looking around with a relief too great to describe, I saw a boat. I grabbed someone’s hands with all the strength I had left. I was pulled onto another boat. I lay gasping on the floor, so relieved to be out of the water I could still feel it, as if I were still in its grip. Sitting up, I looked around at the water, rushing and swirling. It seemed to be saying, “Stay away, stay away.”
After I was taken to shore I saw my sister, also rescued. A different kind of relief washed over me. I ran to her, “Chanie, you’re okay.” At that moment, I couldn’t say any more.
We go through life, with a belief that every day we will return home safely. Every morning we’ll wake up. Is this complacency wrong? If we weren’t so sure, could we live our day-to-day life? Perhaps reality would entangle us in a web of fears, perhaps not. Falling out of a boat into raging rapids jolts this feeling of complacency. I don’t know if I would take that risk again. Are those risks worth taking? Would it be better to know the risks and live in fear or to be oblivious to all? Perhaps we could merge these two. Recognize life as a challenge and go forth, accepting the dangers, yet not shying away from them. As Edgar Guest says in his poem “It Couldn’t Be Done:”
There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done,
There are thousands to prophesy failure;
There are thousands to point out to you one by one,
The dangers that wait to assail you,
But just buckle in with a bit of a grin,
Just take off your coat and go to it…